


Sympathy for the Devil

by writingramblr



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anal Fingering, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Changing Tenses, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Fog, Gothic, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lots, Lovecraftian, M/M, Obscurus (Harry Potter), Oral Sex, Original Percival Graves Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Protective Original Percival Graves, Psychological Horror, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Southern Gothic, Tentacle Sex, inspired/ripped off a drabble fic, mild salad tossing, minor obscurus tentacles, trope bingo, way too much buildup for smut purposes, wtf is a tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-15
Updated: 2017-03-15
Packaged: 2018-10-05 14:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10310549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: There was only one thing for it. He ignored Sera’s protests, and handed in his resignation.“Percy we need-”“No, I need to be able to wake up in the morning and not be reminded every damn day that no one even fucking noticed I wasn’t myself. Don’t you get that? Look, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this, I can’t pretend I’m the same. I fought in the war for Merlin’s sake. This is, this is like that all over again, but I was never a goddamn prisoner of war.”She didn’t argue any more after that.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whileyoustillcan (L_M_Biggs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Four Times At The Crossroads](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13368528) by [L_M_Biggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/L_M_Biggs/pseuds/L_M_Biggs). 



> southern gothic au with some lovecraftian horror imagery thanks to real life inspos and amazing photos.
> 
>  
> 
> 100% not my idea, i just expanded it. 
> 
> http://whileyoustillcan.tumblr.com/post/158339818865

The fog rolls in but never out. It only fades when the sun manages to break through, and even then, just for a few hours.

Credence sometimes thinks he can hear voices whispering to him when he walks home from the post office, past the long never ending row of dark houses, that some say are haunted, and others just look at and shiver.

Ghosts aren’t real, they’re a fanciful and romanticized idea of demons, that’s what his ma, Mary Lou, pureblood descendant of the original line of witch hunters from Salem, tells him.

So he hurries faster, never letting his eyes linger very long on any one house, lest he start to imagine he can see shapes in the dark rolling fog, or feel eyes looking back at him as they begin to form in the grey mist hovering beside the porches.

The road is abandoned, and winding, easy to follow even in darkness, for the moon illuminates it perfectly, as the silver pierces through the gloom, and Credence decides maybe it’s kind of beautiful, even if it is still quite sinister.

There is no important mail, and Mary Lou barks at him for being late and to start cooking dinner, the others are hungry.

He is always hungry.

Something lives inside him, possibly a demon, ma has said, but it’s not just in need of sustenance, it needs his soul.

At night it preys on his mind, tries to corrupt his earnest and pure beating heart and soul, as long sharp fingers are toying between his ribs, out to draw blood.

He always wakes just as the nails scrape his skin, and he pants like he’s been running, sweating and twisted in the sheets, but alone, always alone. His shameful hardness he wills away, but it mocks him, and aches, throbbing for a touch.

The devil is out for his soul, so Credence prays harder, and more fervently, everywhere he goes.

Dinner passes without comment, and Mary Lou seems almost placated when she calls for him to read the nightly bible passage.

His sisters catch his eye twice during the reading, right as he was about to stumble over a difficult word, Modesty smiles sweetly, and emboldens him to finish without so much as a stutter.

The next time he falters, it is Chastity who blinks owlishly, and mouths along with him, helping him to continue past his fear.

Mary Lou still finds a reason to demand his belt.

 

The worst of the scars have always clustered on his upper back, and he can’t even read the word scrawled there in elegant script, but clear evidence of his damned destiny, lest he ensure he is careful, so careful, to remain on the Lord’s path, traveling in his light.

It used to spell out ‘ _P e r c i v a l’_ and Credence felt a jolt of warmth slide through him first at the sound of a name that had to belong to his soulmate falling even from his ma’s angry righteous lips, but then it turned to shock, and muted horror, as he realized no woman could carry such a name.

He was branded an invert from birth.

The devil wanted him very badly indeed.

And thus every night, even if he had been good, perfect and obedient, without fail, Mary Lou would beat him there. Trying to erase the devil’s mark.

It worked, somewhat. Obscuring the letters were easy, but the name was burned into Credence’s mind, and secretly, he _yearned_ for the day he would encounter his soulmate, for surely, they had a matching mark with his name. That was how it worked, was it not?

Mary Lou had never told him of her mark, but they faded if one’s mate died, supposedly.

It was why even through the bloodied and raised skin, Credence would pray that the name would remain, even if it meant more beatings than he thought he deserved. He could not continue on without the hope of someone out in the world loving him, impossible as it seemed. He knew he didn’t deserve love, only hell, and that ma had taken him in out of the goodness of her heart, so she said.

He knew that.

He did.

The nightmares changed.

 

He began to see darkness and red sparks, and imagined he was flying, soaring over the countryside, beyond the swathes of fog and to the biggest town, an hour’s drive away. He crashed into a building, and heard screams. Credence tried to look at his hands, but saw only a smear of blood on his palms, like he’d been whipped with his belt there. He opened his mouth to cry out, to beg for the Lord to free him, to pull him from the darkness he was drowning in, the death and chaos he was creating, but heard nothing.

He came to, and the sheets were shredded, blackness smudged over them like ash, though he could smell no smoke and the only thing remotely like fire was the heat burning in his abdomen, licking down his navel to between his legs.

He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed, aloud in whispers, desperately willing away the temptation, to ease the forbidden ache, to give in to his baser needs would be wickedness and vile, and put him in further danger of hell, erase all the good works he’d been doing.

 

* * *

 

 

There was only one thing for it. He ignored Sera’s protests, and handed in his resignation.

“Percy we need-”

“No, I _need_ to be able to wake up in the morning and not be reminded every damn day that no one even fucking noticed I wasn’t myself. Don’t you get that? Look, I’m sorry. I just can’t do this, I can’t pretend I’m the same. I fought in the war for Merlin’s sake. This is, this is like that all over again, but I was never a goddamn prisoner of war.”

She didn’t argue any more after that.

He knew he’d get plenty of peace and quiet out in West Texas, at his abandoned great uncle’s farm, so that was where he headed. After emptying out and auctioning off the brownstone, which he never would have been able to sleep in again anyway, he booked a portkey, and took only a small bag with him, along with his wand.

He used it very reluctantly, considering all the times that bastard had managed to touch it and somehow bend it to his will, even without properly disarming him, he didn’t trust it very far. Otherwise he would have simply apparated to the house, however, as it was, he didn’t want to end up arriving in several pieces.

 

The second he arrived, he noticed that a lot had changed. Air bit his nose and swept into his lungs with a ferocity unparalleled by New York’s bustling caress. The smell of ozone was strong and the burn of smoke prevalent, though he could see no chimneys at work.

A dark whisper of fog drifted along the road as he walked with purpose towards the Graves farmhouse, and he just barely held back a shiver. The word ‘ _epidemic’_ bounced around his head before he could stop it, and he wondered, just how this town had gone so wrong so quickly.

Magic didn’t so much crackle in the air as threaten, loom, and as he crossed the threshold of the farm, past the fence, it finally warmed and welcomed, blossoming over his skin, gently saying _‘hello.’_

Here, the sunshine seemed to brighten a little, and the grass had some color, while darkness still lingered off to the north and down the road. He rubbed his thumb over the inside of his left wrist absentmindedly, the scribble of _‘C r e d e n c e’_ almost as commonplace as the oxygen starved blue veins branching out from it. He put little to no stock in the whole ‘soulmate’ mumbo jumbo, considering he’d lived through a war and now loss of identity, a good few life events and decades, without ever encountering such a person, yet still experienced love and other things almost like it.

He didn’t need some cosmic indicator of who he should care about. Right now, it was about his own recovery.

 

The nightmare of Grindelwald had come to New York in search of a new weapon to wield, and Percival had merely gotten in the way. With a sneer and a curl of his fingers, the man had beaten him as if there had been no challenge at all. Considering how easily Percival had become Director of Magical Security, it was no small feat.

Grindelwald truly was as the rumors said, the most powerful dark wizard of the century. It didn’t make him feel any better, knowing he’d lost everything to a ‘worthy’ opponent. Chasing after a myth and legend, the man had told him bits and pieces of his need, hoping Percival would have valuable knowledge, but unfortunately he didn’t.

Even under the use of Imperius and other nasty little tricks the wizard used, Percival had been unable to help.

_Obscurials._

They were rare, so very rare in the last hundred years, that they were almost unheard of, eradicated in the best sense of the word.

But not here, in the middle of nowhere.

Percival went for a walk the next day, and nearly conjured up a patronus to accompany him, it was so thick with fog.

The town was _bleeding_ untapped power, and infested with Obscuri, most without a host. If only the man with the giant suitcase of monsters had been there. It almost made Percival laugh at how furious Grindelwald would be to know he had accidentally stumbled into a hive of them.

A row of empty houses whispered of hauntings, but Percival knew better. Children without families had lived and died there, all because of their powers that they’d possibly never even known of. It was eerie, and very disturbing, even for a man with a normally strong constitution to walk among such latent power.

Without a host, nothing could be done, and the Obscuri would merely languish and last until it simply burned up, and would possibly damage the house it resided under.

As for approaching any still living children with Obscurus, he had no idea how on earth he’d go about helping them, besides to alert MACUSA and hope for the best.

Sera would probably laugh at him.

Not to mention, he was rather annoyed at them as a whole. He sighed, and apparated home, not wishing to travel the empty road and waste time he could be using to drink, before sleeping.

 

* * *

 

 

When Credence is blinking away sleep, and he feels cold dirt under his fingers, instead of sweat dampened sheets. His heartbeat begins to thunder in his ears, and he glances down to find himself naked, sprawled on the ground, his bare skin streaked with dark ash.

“Oh no.”

Somehow, he stripped himself and sleep walked out of the house, all the way down the road to the forest before the town.

How did he do that?

He gets to his feet with a wince and shivers at the sudden chill. It might be half past three in the morning, going off the angle of the moon, and he doesn’t know what to do.

There’s nothing to cover himself with, so he can only pray the Lord watches over him, and keeps him safe. He begins to run all the way home, only partway stopping when he sees a light on inside the farmhouse at the end of the lane, before the row of abandoned homes.

The Graves farm.

A family who had all died off in the war, or from illness, ma had said.

Someone had to have broken in, they were squatting in the house, and that was illegal. Of course, Credence was in no position to condemn or even make a citizen's arrest, but he made a mental note to revisit the place, and try to preach to the lost soul, before he simply informed the sheriff about their activities.

He returned home and managed to sneak back into his bedroom, crawling through the window unnoticed. He washed the dirt and ash from his body as best he could, and then slipped into a new pair of pajama pants, before climbing back into bed.

Sleep did not come for him again that night, but neither did the devil.

On his next trip to retrieve the mail from the post office, he hurried there, so he could take it slow on the way back, and visit the hermit haunting the farmhouse.

The closer he got to the fence, the brighter the sun appeared, and warmth bled over his skin, fighting off the usual chill from the misty air.

His words of greeting died on his tongue as he realized that the hermit was in fact outside, no longer lurking in the farmhouse, but blatantly working a little further down the lane, on the fence itself, clearing away branches and overgrowth from the yard. But there were no shears in his hand, and in fact, his fingers seemed to simply drag over the wooden posts to free them from brush.

Credence stopped moving, and stood, watching as the man grew nearer, not aware of him yet, and his eyes grazed past the man’s long hair and scruff of a beard, to his bare torso and tan work pants.

He was a very fit homeless man, and certainly acted like he was right at home. Could he be someone who belonged there?

“Excuse me, but can I help you with something?”

Credence almost jumped out of his skin when he blinked, and found the man standing right in front of him, with merely another piece of branch laden fence separating them.

The devil could do magic and destroy things, like the man did, wordlessly and he looked to be made of pure sin, and temptation.

Credence gulped.

His eyes followed a bead of sweat falling down the side of the man’s brow, and he noticed how traces of silver streaked the brown of the man’s hair. To be on the head of someone reasonably young, he must have lead a stressful life.

“Sir, I wondered if you could tell me what you were doing here, on this private property.”

The words, when he found them, came out much less politely than he intended, a sort of rush, and the man’s eyes widened as a heavy brow quirked on his forehead,

“Sorry?”

Credence shuddered out a sigh and took a step back, as if the man might hurt him for intruding,

“This is the Graves family farm. Did you not know you were trespassing?”

The man was now leaning on the fence, eyeing him, and Credence’s gaze dropped to one of his hands, fingers tapping the wood, perhaps in what could be called a threatening manner.

There was a dark smudge on the inside of one of the man’s wrists, and it made Credence think of the night before, waking in the middle of nowhere, from a nightmare of flying again.

He flinched as he saw one of the man’s hands move, but there was no angry smack, merely a nudge against his elbow,

“Have you been spying on me?”

Credence shook his head, but technically, it was exactly what he had been doing. The man continued, seemingly unbothered,

“I live here. I am a Graves. Sorry if that’s a disappointment. They aren’t all dead.”

The man was smiling, just slightly, and Credence could only focus on the point of contact, where the man’s hand was dragging along his arm, down close to his hand, which gripped almost painfully around the mail he had just retrieved.

“Were you planning on introducing yourself, or just out to interrogate me?”

Credence shook his head suddenly, and backed away further, escaping the man’s touch, and he stammered out an apology.

Then he ran.

Ma had been wondering where he was.

She said nothing, but held out her hand, and he ducked his eyes to the floor, before reaching for his belt.

That night, he lay still and prayed very hard that he would remain in his bed, he did not want to have to run home again.

Despite himself he again felt the urge to give in to the wicked desires of his sinful heart. Thoughts of his imperfect nature returning as he lay in the quiet and stillness of his room, images flooded his mind of the man, shining with sweat in the sunlight, a sort of impossible beauty though he represented sin incarnate. His hands itched to have touched the man back, even if to simply take his hand, to properly greet him and give him his name. He wondered if he would be taken to hell swifter for telling the devil who and what he was. One of those from the family devoted to fighting his evil.

The pain on his back seemed to throb like it never had before, and he found himself turning over onto his side, and then to his stomach, lying with his hips bracing into the mattress, refusing to move, to feel the drag of fabric against the stubborn hardness of his groin.

He cried until he passed out from exhaustion, minutes before the sun gave a feeble attempt to rise.

 

* * *

 

The fae like creature that Percival had seen wandering the lonely roads at night, for the last several nights in fact, was not that at all. It was a human boy. Slender and tall, with long hair that framed sharp cheekbones, and a delicate way of movement that belied hidden strength.

He only found out because the same boy later approached him, apparently thinking him some kind of wandering hobo out to steal family heirlooms from inside a rundown farmhouse.

He certainly looked the part, and he could only imagine what his parents or uncle might have said at the sight of him nowadays. But he couldn’t dare shave the beard, and trim his hair, and look into the mirror and see the monster staring back at him.

So he endured it and perhaps it was foolish, but he didn’t care. There was only one catch. He’d renewed and put up charms of his own to protect the farm from intruders, but the wards had allowed the boy to get right up to the fence, and he’d even _touched_ him, with no adverse effects. That should have been impossible. He should have been basically invisible to no majs. So, the boy could not be that. He was no ‘being’ but he was incredibly gorgeous. In a manner that made Percival wonder just what was the matter with him, finding himself coming in his pants from a wet dream, a pleasant but confusing sort of mental rebellion against the dreamless sleep potion he’d been taking, not to mention the kinds of dreams he didn’t think he could have anymore.

He thumbed over his wrist again, the ink lines of the name still perfectly clear, and he sighed. He had come to terms with the fact he didn’t need anyone, and no one could need him in a healthy way, besides, didn’t most people meet their mate at a decent age? Pushing forty for a wizard might not have meant the same as a no maj, but he still had a sense that if he hadn’t met his mate by now, he likely wouldn’t. Perhaps they were just too far apart geographically.

As he finished working on the fence, he retreated back to his front porch, and summoned a glass and the decanter of whiskey he’d been putting off drinking, until he cleaned up the farm, as he felt he had more than earned it now.

He swirled two fingers worth around in the glass, and turned his eyes back to the road, faintly hoping the boy might come back, whether to say hello or simply challenge the wards again. There was a very good chance he had either been missed by a letter, or somehow, more miraculously, housed a latent Obscurus.

It would explain the late night wanderings and how the boy seemed to know about his staying in the farmhouse, but had never approached before.

He finished the glass of whiskey and poured another, feeling like doing little else, when he noticed with a start that there was a figure walking down the lane.

He downed the second glass at once, and then moved to go meet the boy, stepping just beyond the line of the fence, feeling the wards humming, tickling him, trying to warn him he wouldn’t be protected outside them.

Reluctantly, he palmed his wand, tucked into the side of his jeans, and then held up a hand in greeting, before calling out.

“Hello there.”

The sun was still hot on his skin, but shielded behind a menacing cloud cover now, as the boy looked up from where he might have been staring at his shoes, liquid dark eyes meeting Percival’s.

“Sir… Mister Graves, good afternoon.”

Painfully polite.

“You rushed off in such a hurry the other day, I didn’t catch your name. Would you like to step inside out of the heat for a drink? Anything you like.”

The boy’s eyes widened, and he shook his head almost at once.

So much for politeness.

“Sorry, I need to be getting home. Besides, I…”

The boy broke off, staring at his wrist, eyes locked on it, as he’d begun to stroke the skin, absentmindedly.

“Sir…”

Percival frowned,

“Everything all right?”

“The devil tempts good men off the road in order to draw them to sin.”

Mumbling almost, the boy was inching closer, and Percival dropped his wrist, in favor of crossing his arms,

“Is that right? You think I’m the devil?”

The mere idea was laughable, and he shouldn’t have been wounded at all, but he was starving for just a moment of company, a handful of pitiful conversation, all so that he could avoid being alone.

The boy shrugged, but Percival could read people almost as easily as the blond Goldstein could read minds.

He was hurting, and judging by the way he walked, all hunched over, in the daylight, he hurt physically too. At night, when he wandered home, naked, Percival recalled with a start, he held his head high, and seemed almost taller than himself.

However, he was wary of the seeming fragility of the boy, though he looked less like a boy and more like a beaten down young man, so he backed away, hands held high, and tried to force a laugh,

“Don’t worry. I’m not, and I won’t keep you from your business. Just, know that if you ever find yourself lost, you’re welcome to stop by, okay?”

The tiniest nod was given in reply, and Percival smiled, earnestly, before turning and letting the wards welcome him back onto his land.

By the time the whiskey hit him, he was sweating, and needing to lay down anyway, to quell the fire in his stomach, the lust and burning need almost unconsciously guiding his hand to his waistband and below. He wrapped a hand around his cock and jerked it a couple times, groaning aloud at the feeling, arousal washing over him, as he brought forth a hazy fantasy, with dark eyes meeting his and plush lips grazing his own.

Dizzily, he dropped his hand, trying to stave off his climax, to torture himself the only pleasant way he knew how.

He was breathing hard again before he knew it, a simple touch of his hand against his stomach teasing enough to make him give in, and rub his palm over the head of his cock, aided by the slip of precum, and his back arched off the bed as he finally let himself finish, stroking himself until it was almost agonizingly painful.

He sighed, and flicked his fingers to clean himself, before turning over, and facing the window that overlooked the road.

He could barely keep his eyes open now, so he fell asleep, hands reaching for nothing, landing on the empty side of the bed.

 

* * *

 

A painful tingling was racing all over his skin, like a slap from the belt, but softer, and Credence found himself screaming, before he realized he wasn’t dreaming any longer, and was halfway over a fence.

 _The fence_.

The fence to the Graves farm.

He pitched forward the rest of the way, and landed with grunt of pain on the ground, inside the barrier.

He could see it faintly, against the inky black of the sky, dotted with a few stars where clouds weren’t hiding them. A golden shimmer.

Something like magic.

The devil was hiding here.

He shivered, and sat up slowly, before hissing in pain. It felt like a rock had scraped his back when he had landed.

His feet never hurt, walking barefoot as he did, but somehow, the most scarred part of his body was vulnerable. Crossing his arms over his chest hurt, but he needed to get up, to leave, to _flee_.

He couldn’t imagine what sort of horrors would befall him for appearing as he did, inside the devil’s grounds, with nothing to protect him from wickedness.

He stumbled along the length of the fence, feeling for the gate which he knew was there, but before he could throw the latch and escape, he felt eyes on him.

On his back, as heavy as the touch of a hand.

“Hey. You’re hurt.”

“Please, stay back. In…. Jesus’s name.”

Credence shivered again, and he heard a low chuckle rasp out of the man’s throat.

“You see, I can’t be the devil if that doesn’t work.”

“Dark magic is at work here, you could merely be warding off the Lord’s might.”

“Can that be done?”

Now there were physical hands on him, and not against bare skin, the silky touch of a soft blanket met his shoulders, and was wrapped around him, before he was turned away from the fence, and brought face to face with the man.

He was shirtless, and clad in sleep pants, his hair still long, but not as much as Credence’s, and a shadow of a beard covered his face.

Credence had thought him handsome in the daytime, but there in the moonlight, he was devastating.

“Sir, please…”

Don’t hurt me.

He begged without words.

Yet, somehow, he knew, the man would not harm him.

“Come along inside. I’ll get you something warm to drink, and you can borrow something of mine to wear. How did this happen, hmm?”

It had been happening more and more frequently.

He still didn’t know why.

He found himself sitting inside the living room, in front of a crackling fireplace, with a mug of something that smelled delicious being placed in his trembling hands.

The man sat beside him, not quite dangerously close, but near enough that he could easily reach over and touch Credence along his bare forearms.

He took a hesitant sip, and an obscene noise escaped him.

Dimly, he noted that the man shifted beside him, and drew a sharp intake of breath,

“All right there?”  
His left hand grazed Credence’s wrist, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Sorry. It’s so wonderful. Sweet.”

“You’ve never had hot chocolate.... Have you?”

Credence shook his head, and the fingers on his wrist tightened just slightly, a thumb rubbing roughly into his skin, as if marking him with his fingertip.

It made him feel feverish, never mind the hot drink in his grasp.

“How did you come to end up inside my wards, hmm? Obviously you possess some kind of magic of your own. You should know, untrained apparations can go, very, _very_ badly.”  
Half of the words the man was saying made no sense to Credence, and the rest, he was afraid to understand.

He opened his eyes to find the man removing his hand, only to bring it to Credence’s shoulder, dragging the blanket down, exposing his back, letting out a loud gasp.

“What’s all this? Have you… hurt yourself while running around tonight?”

Credence shrugged his shoulders away and tried to pull the blanket back up,

“No sir. No, those are old wounds.”

“Let me heal them. It’s the least I could do.”

Credence shook his head, tears stinging his eyes, for as badly as he wanted to say yes.

“You can’t… my mother would know, then she would only make it worse.”

Clearly, that had been the wrong thing to say. Something like anger flashed in the man’s eyes, and a hand was on him again in a fierce grip, fingers curling against his jawline, forcing him to meet the man’s dark gaze.

“No one will hurt you if I have anything to say about it. Parents who beat their children are unworthy of the title. Now, hold still.”

The man’s other hand pulled the blanket back down, and Credence ducked his head, setting the half empty mug down in favor of putting his hands up to hide his face, while he felt the man’s hand begin to touch his bare skin, warmth, but not uncomfortably so, flaring out from the contact.

Knots were massaged away and soreness vanished, as he could feel the skin healing, somehow, and he knew even if the devil performed magic only for bad, maybe, just maybe he could do good.

“Oh fuck. Sweet merlin.”

Credence lifted his head and found the man staring at his back, and he knew instantly the mark had to be visible, without scars to mask it.

“I’ve been branded by the devil… now you know.”

The man’s eyes were oddly shiny, as if wet with unshed tears, and he shook his head, before darting a glance to Credence’s own face.

“No, dear boy, you’re wearing _my_ name.”

“What? That’s impossible. You’re…”

Credence trailed off.

Strong and handsome? Older and mysterious?

He didn’t know how to finish the thought, and he realized the man was holding out his wrist, letting the firelight catch it, and Credence could read his own name scribbled onto the man’s skin.

Out of all else that had happened, it shouldn’t have been that shocking, but it was, and he felt his head grow heavy, as his vision blurred, and then darkness took over as he fell and lost consciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Percival could hardly believe it himself. The dark haired and long limbed, again, _naked_ boy he’d been alerted to the presence of around three in the morning had just fainted on his couch, into his arms, after being shown his soulmark.

‘Credence’ had to be the boy. It was the only explanation for why his name, which had almost been unreadable across the boy’s shoulders, due to the sheer amount of scars and wounds, had been so obvious.

He carefully laid the boy out on the couch, tucking the blanket around him, mainly concerned with covering his waist, for modesty’s sake, and then he stood back, and just stared, drinking in his fill.

No wonder he’d felt so drawn to the boy, over protective in the instant he’d mentioned his mother would hurt him, and the righteous fury he still burned with only just became overruled with a different sort of heat when he noticed the boy, Credence, began to stir, and his long lashes fluttered as his eyes opened slowly.

“Oh.”

Oh, it wasn’t a dream? Oh, we’re soulmates?

He wasn’t sure what the singular syllable and word meant.

But Percival went to his knees beside him anyway, endeavoring to comfort above all else, gently putting a hand on the boy’s shoulder,

“If you want to stay here tonight, you can, you’ll be safe. I promise. I mean, I can look out for you.”

Credence blinked slowly, and his tongue slipped out of his mouth, wetting his bottom lip in an accidentally arousing move.

“I can’t possibly impose such a thing on you Mister Graves.”

Percival frowned slightly, and drew a hand back to brace it against his face,

“No more ‘sirs,’ no more thinking I’m the devil? Just formality again?”

“But you’re…”  
“Shh-hh. I’m not the devil anymore than you’re an angel.”

Before he could stop himself, and in his defense, he could swear the boy was looking at his mouth too, he was leaning down, swooping in to capture Credence’s lips in a fierce kiss.

Sparks emanated from the contact, and Percival swore he saw stars.

Someone was moaning, at the moment he couldn’t be sure if it was him or the boy, but he pressed closer, sliding an arm beneath the boy’s back to pull him upright a bit, and slender arms wrapped around his neck, as Credence began to emerge from the warmth of the blanket.

“Mister Graves… please.”

The kiss broke merely so Percival could rest his forehead against the boy’s, fighting to catch his breath, as he’d nearly stopped to focus on the sensations coursing through his body. He imagined he was on the verge of coming, just from that alone, how much more incredible would it feel with more skin to skin contact?

He didn’t know, but he was desperate to find out.

Without stopping to think about it, he pulled the boy up into his arms, blanket and all, and staggered to his room, heart thundering in his ears, moving a bit faster when he felt the boy tighten his hold, and nuzzle his face into Percival’s neck.

He was seeking out further contact without even realizing it.

“Have you done that before?”

He found himself asking, voice hoarse with need.

“No sir, never.”

Percival pressed a kiss to Credence’s closest cheek, and then heaved out a sigh,

“Okay. Well. Lucky thing I came along.”

The bed was right there, but for some reason, the idea of letting go of the boy for even an instant was nagging painfully against Percival’s mind.

After going from nothing to an armful of lithe magical soulmate in less than a night, his head was spinning more than a little. Reluctantly, he did finally place Credence onto the bed, untangling from him slightly, and then leaned back just to flip off the light, before he felt a slim fingered hand wrap around his wrist, dragging him away from the bedside table, back towards his mate.

“I’ve been hoping for so long someone would come find me. I thought I was defying god by dreaming of a man.”

Percival sighed,

“If your god is real, why would he disapprove of such a thing, considering he put those marks here? No devil did this.”

“That’s what the devil would say.”

Credence chirped blithely, and Percival bit back a laugh.

“You’ve an answer for everything, don’t you?”

The boy shrugged his slender shoulders, and it only made him want to see more of that pale skin, put his mouth to every inch, and give the boy some marks that were not evidence of pain, but of cherishment.

He splayed a hand over the boy’s chest, pressing him flat onto the bed, as he could feel the rapid beating of his heart, before he dragged his hand down slowly, pulling the edge of the blanket with it, and leaning in to kiss the boy’s neck, drawing a gasp from him.

“And has anyone touched you here?”

His fingers tickled past the boy’s navel, to the dark smattering of hair curling above his cock, and he moved past, avoiding the reddened flesh, to caress the meat of his thigh.

“N-no sir.”

Credence sighed breathily, and Percival could feel his own cock twitch in response, so he kept going, kissing lower until his mouth was even with his hand, teasing the boy’s other thigh.

“Please, _please_ …”

The boy’s cock looked as though it hurt from being so hard, curving up to smear precum on his stomach, and Percival hummed against the sensitive skin of his hipbone, nipping a kiss, before murmuring,

“Call me Percival, and I’ll do whatever you want.”

He needed this as much as Credence did. The ache inside of his chest and the knot in his abdomen had finally lessened, it was as if merely being around the boy, touching him, was making his own inner demons retreat.

“I don’t know _what_ I want.”

Percival brought his hand over to grind the heel of his palm against the underside of Credence’s cock, making him arch his back into the touch, and he smiled so wide it hurt,

“I think I do.”

He used his other hand to guide the boy’s own hand to his hair, before leaning over to press his mouth to the base of the boy’s cock, he tasted like smoke, a bitter and spicy mix, unusual, and incredibly arousing.

He licked a wet stripe up the length of it, and mouthed over the head, salty slick meeting his lips.

“Oh-h-h… Percival…”

His eyes fluttered closed, and his hips ground into the mattress, unconsciously chasing a desperate sort of friction against his own cock, feeling as the boy trembled through his climax what seemed like seconds later, spilling onto his tongue, and keening high and long from his throat.

Percival swallowed thickly and pulled off just to place a kiss on the boy’s sweaty hip.

“My boy, you’ve undone me.”

The hand in his hair was gentle, so caring, fingers caressing the long strands, pushing it back from his face, so that he could look up and be floored by the adoration in Credence’s eyes.

“Have you never…?”

He blinked, and Credence shook his head, slowly, as if in a daze.

He probably was.

The question of why died on his tongue. Fundamentalist Christian, puritanical beliefs, a century of hate behind it all. Of course they frowned on self pleasure.

“Are you…?”

Now Percival was blushing, hiding his face against the boy’s chest,

“I’ve fucked myself against the bed plenty of times. Including just now.”

“Oh. But I wanted… do you think I could try?”

Percival glanced up to find the boy biting his bottom lip, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

“I would like that.”

“Can you…”

He hovered over Credence, unsure as to what he was asking, and let the boy guide him, a hand pressing on his shoulder to nudge him onto his back.

No more words were needed just yet, as he watched Credence carefully straddle his waist, reaching a hand down to cup his cheek, before he was rubbing his thumb over Percival’s mouth.

“What…?”

Credence tugged on his bottom lip slightly and he opened his mouth, allowing the boy to press first his index then his middle finger inside.

He sucked on them without being asked, and watched as the boy’s eyes fluttered closed.

“Oh-h-h…”

It must have reminded him of how Percival had sucked his perfect cock.

Glancing down, he saw the boy was hard again, already. He wasn’t long off, and he knew it had to be some kind of strange bonding magic, or maybe he was just that in need of the right kind of touches.

He flicked his tongue between the two fingers, and suckled a bit harder, before putting his hands on the boy’s hips, squeezing tightly, before sliding down, and grasping at his ass, pulling him close enough to feel his cock brush against his own.

“Mmm… oh god… oh no…”

Before he could ask what was wrong, he saw Credence’s eyes snap open, but instead of his dark brown orbs, they were pure white, and instead of being afraid, he was even more turned on. He pressed a final kiss to the boy’s fingers, before gently nudging them away so he could speak.

“Credence… this is good. This is okay. It’s your power manifesting. You can control it.”

He shuddered out a breath, and stroked his hands over what he could reach, thighs and sides beneath his ribs, and Credence moaned, shaking his head slightly, sending his dark waves fluttering.

“I don’t think I can…”

“Then don’t. I know you won’t hurt me.”

At least, he hoped.

 

* * *

 

Credence didn’t know what exactly was happening, but Mister Graves sounded so sure, and looked so in awe, that he didn’t try to stop it, he didn’t try to do anything but just _feel_.

Smoke was seeping out of his skin, caressing his body, and moving to touch the man lying beneath him as well.

“Does it hurt?”

Mister Graves was asking him, his voice low, soothing, almost a whisper.

Credence had to think about it, for just a moment, but as he watched the darkness swirl and coalesce into what looked like a red and black snake, wrapping around his arms and sliding down to kiss his palms, before dissipating into nothingness.

“No. It feels like, just an extension of myself.”

“You look beautiful like this.”

Credence ducked his head, feeling his cheeks burning with a warmth not unlike a fever.

“Please don’t lie…”

The man’s hand was stroking his face, a thumb pressing against the edge of his jawline, and Credence leaned into it, hungry for more in a way he couldn’t put to words.

“My boy, I couldn’t if I tried. You’re so alive with power, it’s breathtakingly gorgeous.”

“Can I--?”

Credence hadn’t been able to look away the second he realized the man was hard again, and he tentatively put a hand to the man’s stomach, inches from where his cock lay, before he heard a groan.

“Please do.”

“You’re so big… I don’t know if I can, uh…”

He broke off, blushing furiously again, and tried to shrink down, hide behind his hair, but the magic that had been inside him seemed to bloom outwards, and almost pushed him closer, edging his hand towards the man’s cock, and stroking for him, welling at the tip and then vanishing so that he could move in, and gently kiss it.

“My boy… only do what you want, at this point, it won’t take much.”

There was a hand in his hair now, nails not scraping his scalp roughly, but fingers gripped firmly, so that he could gauge how it felt for the man by the way he was urged.

He let the man’s cock slip into his mouth a little further, as his hand tugged what wouldn’t fit, and he could dimly see smoke drifting down, smoothing over and past his balls to where Credence would never have dared touch.

“Fuck, what are you…?”

Mister Graves didn’t quite yank on his hair, but it almost hurt, and as a result, his magic moved harder, pressing deeper, as the man cried out, and hot bitter jets of come spurted into Credence’s throat.

Even as he leaned back, frantically wiping his mouth and hoping he hadn’t done too badly, he could see the smoke still moving _inside_ the man, low between his legs, and Mister Graves was gasping out a plea for him to stop.

“I don’t know how…”

Credence blinked, wide eyed, and he felt the man grab one of his hips, pulling him up and he almost fell back on top of him, bringing their mouths together roughly.

“If it doesn’t stop, I might come again.”

Mister Graves said, his voice sounding more than a little strained.

Credence gulped,

“Is that bad?”

The man shook his head, sweat glistening on his forehead as his arms tightened a bit desperately around Credence’s waist,

“N-no, but I’d much prefer you joined me.”

He kissed Credence’s neck and nipped the skin there, before shifting a hand down his back, sliding between his legs, below to his ass, rubbing a fingertip over it, making him jump.

“What…?”

“This is where I’d fuck you, to show you how much I want you… Ungh fuck…”

His hips stuttered on the upward grind, as his cock twitched against Credence’s stomach, spilling onto his chest, and he felt the man’s teeth bite harder at the junction of his shoulder and neck.

“Percival, please, make me come.”

He didn’t know really what he was asking, but he heard the man mutter something, and suddenly there was slick between his ass cheeks, as a finger dipped inside of him, he gasped.

“See how nice it feels?”

Credence just hummed, lost in a sea of bliss, and he noticed that the man no longer seemed to tremble, perhaps his magic had become just as distracted as he was.

He still was amazed to know he even had magic, and besides that, a soulmate who wanted him just as badly.

When Mister Graves told him he needed to come, _now_ , he obeyed gladly, crying with relief as he felt the man’s fingers finally let up on the spot that had been making him feel like he might explode from the pleasure of it all.

As the sparks faded from his eyesight, he realized the man had put him on his back, cleaned him off, and was pulling the blanket back up around him.

“Are we done already?” He barely got out before he yawned, and the man chuckled,

“It’s almost six in the morning my boy. We both need some rest I think. Go on, sleep.”

A strong arm bracketed around his waist, drawing him against the man’s body, and Credence snuggled closer, sighing in contentment.

 

* * *

 

Percival woke up to the smell of ozone, and there was nothing out of the ordinary, magic usually had the strong sort of bite to it, but when he opened his eyes, he realized it was because of the boy. He was frowning in concentration, electricity nearly crackling as lamps flickered, while he had both hands in front of him, holding onto a dark and red pulsing imperfect sphere.

“Credence…”

It vanished in a loud snap, like disapparating, and Credence blinked over at him, suddenly looking apologetic.

“I didn’t mean to wake you…”

Percival smiled gently,

“I couldn’t help but be pulled from sleep by the use of such strong power beside me.”

He drew a hand over the boy’s bare arm, watching as he shivered at the contact, and goosebumps erupted on his skin.

“Going to give me a good morning kiss?”

He let his eyes drop to the boy’s lips, and instinctively he licked his own, before he could blink, Credence had pounced on him, and was doing just that, while also rutting himself into Percival’s groin.

“Mmm, fuck, you’re so eager.”

“I’m sorry…”

Credence was blushing when Percival opened his eyes, and he held him tighter, shushing him,

“Don’t apologize. I love it.”

“Will you sodomize me now?”

Percival sighed, and brought a hand up to knead his temples,

“My boy… no. I’m going to do no such thing.”

Credence actually whimpered, and clung to him tighter, pressing his face into the crook of his neck,

“Please?”

“Sweetheart,” Too late, the endearment slipped out and he couldn’t take it back, but he heard the boy’s sharp intake of breath in response, “I’m not going to do that. I’m going to _make love_ to you.”

“Oh.”

“But first, I want to make you come with my mouth. I want to make sure you’re nice and relaxed.”

He’s already smiling as he kisses down the length of Credence’s body, and instead of mouthing along his cock, like the boy thinks he meant, he moves lower, and kissing the soft skin of his balls, and further, to the pink pucker of his ass, feeling him twitch, before he’s even pressed his tongue to it, he can taste smoke again.

“My boy… tell me how it feels.”

Credence was already trembling,

“It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, like...oh god!”

He’d dipped a spit slick finger inside the boy, and rubbed carefully along his tight walls, until he knew he found the right spot, and he watched as Credence thrust his hips against nothingness, and pushed closer, begging silently for more, as his cock dripped onto his stomach.

He pressed another finger in along with the first, and put his mouth right above where they moved in and out, sloppy kisses and a swipe of his tongue so that he could feel right before the boy came. Then he put his other hand tight at the base of the boy's cock, halting him just in time.

Credence let out a strangled cry and Percival could see tears already tracking down his face.

“What… why did you…?”

“I want to be inside you when you come, I changed my mind.”

He kissed back up the length of Credence’s slender form and withdrew his hand carefully, before murmuring a spell to produce slick on his cock, so that the instant their lips met, he could push into the boy’s loosened hole, and feel him clench around him.

“Mmm… please Percival…”

The way the boy said his name like a prayer, it was a benediction, a promise that yes, all of this was real.

But what he really wanted was to see the proof of it, so he pulled out, slowly, agonizingly, and urged Credence onto his knees, spine arching perfectly, ass in the air as he pressed his cheek to the pillow, his dark hair spilling onto the silk like a cursed halo, and then, _then_ Percival slid home, drawing his hand over the boy’s back to grasp a hip in one hand, and trace the swirling lines of his own name between the boy’s shoulder blades with the other.

“Yes,” he thrust in deeper, as Credence moaned into the pillow, “Yes, my sweetheart, my beautiful boy.”

“I’m gonna…”

His hand shifted underneath the boy’s slim hips, and he felt the instant Credence’s cock twitched and spurted onto the sheets, tightening the hold on his own cock, dragging him over, spilling inside the tight hot walls of his ass. He fell forward and barely braced himself from crushing the boy, legs aching from effort as he pulled back and out, and then collapsed beside the boy.

“Can I… stay with you?”

Percival dragged a hand lazily over the boy’s side, fingers making mindless shapes on his sweaty bare skin.

“Do you want to?”

“Yes. I don’t know if it’s what god would want.”

Percival barely caught himself before swearing.

“If you want it, I’d be glad to keep you. Help you learn to control this power.”

“You don’t think I’m cursed?”

Percival smiled, and pressed a soft kiss to Credence’s temple,

“No more so than me, my boy.”

 

He made a note to call Tina Goldstein, see if she didn’t have a way of contacting that man with the suitcase. He’d be able to do something about the never ending fog, and maybe even have some insight about his mate.

 

“I’m happy to give _you_ my soul, Mister Graves.”

He didn’t bother correcting the boy again, and he laughed again,

“Only if you take mine in return.”

“Deal.”

Credence moved closer, nestling against his neck and tickling the underside of his chin with that wild wavy hair, and Percival sighed.

This, was not a bad way to live.

 

* * *

 

**END**

 


End file.
